Over-served and solo

Jeff’s working nights this week, which means I’m spending my evenings sitting in my favorite chair watching “Alaska State Troopers” and “Locked up Abroad” on NatGeo, not worrying about all the housework I should be doing and drinking Gallo White Zinfandel.  Because Beringer stopped honoring my $5 rebates after the 49^th one I mailed them. Guess 50 is the limit. Bastards.

It’s hardly a surprise that I often find myself slightly “over-served” on nights Jeff is working.  And screw you with your “does she really sit home by herself at night and drink alone?” judgments.  I can name at least 30 things I do on a regular basis that are more judgment-worthy than a little solo sipping in the evening.

Jeff’s no idiot.  He can tell within 30 seconds of arriving home at 8 a.m. just how liquored up I got the night before.  Like this morning, for example.  Trash?  Not taken to the curb for weekly pickup.  Laundry room?  Double doors wide-ass open to the whole world (the laundry is in the garage and has separate doors that open to the outside).  Two of his least favorite things to find when he gets home.  If I had left the garden hose blocking his parking spot, I would have had a hat trick!

This morning I was in the kitchen when he pulled in the driveway.  I saw him get out of his car, look to the left at the trash can and then look to the right at the laundry doors.  Then I saw his shoulders drop and what appeared to be a giant exhale.  He actually had the nerve to walk in the door and say “Did you do laundry this morning?”  Whatever. 

We both know I forgot to lock the laundry room last night.  What’s the big frigging deal?  No one lives behind us and it’s not like anyone is going to walk around the back of our house, see that the laundry room is open and then decide to steal his tighty whities and our industrial-sized box of OxyClean.  Billy Mays really knew his shit!

I don’t know why he thinks it’s such an issue.  I guess it’s because we keep the beer fridge in there, and if anyone discovered our stockpile we could take a substantial hit. Right in the liquor locker, if you will.  But since no one knows about the super-secret beer fridge location, our stockpile remains perfectly safe even if I forget to lock the doors.

Oh, shit.  Never mind.